A New Life
by SocialisesWithBooks
Summary: After mourning the death of her parents for 16 years, Tris quits the force to become a sports teacher at The Fourth City. She is shocked when everything turns out to be different than what it seemed. A devious headmaster with sinister plans, and a whole new world of right and wrong. What secrets can her new world unveil?
1. Chapter 1

**Hi Guys, it's me again. Just in case you were wondering, yes this story is mine. I posted it a while ago, but decided not to continue it, as I got a bit busy with studying, etc. Now I have decided to make an effort to get this thing going again, so I decided to re-post my chapters in a new story, by the same name as my last one (well...ok, I changed it a bit, not the plot, just my writing). Gave a good one!**

**Update: And new I have had to re-repost (if there ever was such a word) my story, as it isn't appearing on the list thingy for me, strange...**

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><p><strong>Tris' P.O.V.<strong>

I sit patiently, waiting quietly in the taxi cab. I'm on my way the Fourth City for my job interview. My car is undergoing its yearly check-up, and I'd rather not catch the bus. After all, you can't always predict what strangers will do.

For the first time in ages I think back sixteen years ago, to where it first began.

At first the dreams came short and sharp. Almost like memories. Almost. Loud whispers invaded my quiet thoughts. I couldn't sleep, but that was only the beginning.

At times it got so hard for me to tell the memory from the dreams. They felt and seemed so real. Because of this I had different versions in my head of what happened that night.

I remember it clearly**-** one of the story versions, dream or not. But something about it stood out to me, which was why I suspected that it was the memory— The way I could feel the pain, and nothing else; so many thoughts rushing through my head that I could hear the blood racing through my veins.

When they came, I was in my room. Tucked away, safe and sound asleep, but it didn't stay that way.

The only reason I was awake was because of Caleb. We shared a bedroom up to age seven, but that doesn't matter. I just know for sure that Caleb's loud and hiccup-like snores will never fade from my memory.

While concentrating on fluffy sheep, which were jumping over a white picket fence, I heard a car door slam, which forced me into stimulation mode. Soon after I heard a muffled scream and a soft thud. I thought the car was just the neighbours, but could I have ever been more wrong?

After I realised what happened, I thought of racing down stairs to try and catch the kidnappers, but I knew better than that, so I waited until I heard more activity. That was also a wrong move. First thing I heard after that scream was the front door slamming shut and a car driving off before I could say 'fire'.

It's the code word. You know, whenever there is 'stranger danger' like someone following you and eyeing you suspiciously while you're walking home at night, you're supposed to yell 'fire!', and run. The alternative is to ask then the time, saying you don't know. That's your only chance to get a look at them and remember all the details if anything happens.

Caleb slept through the whole thing. His snores, on top of our double glazed windows, blocked most of the noise from outside, so I'm assuming that's why I didn't hear the intruders break in. Or possibly Mum and Dad could have known them and let them in without hesitation? I'd thought about it before, but who would want to kill them? It's not as if someone you know just decides, in the middle of the night ,that they want to go and kid-nap a couple of grown-ups so that they can continue their devious plans. It sounds ridiculous when you thin about it.

I was also the first to find the blood. Crimson pools of it sinking into our new carpet. We had just moved in. Sometimes I looked at them like most people look at clouds, being the little child I was, except these weren't white and fluffy. I once even pictured that the stains were trying to convey a message, or gave some clue as to who 'they' were, or where my parents were being taken.

Every morning when I woke up, as soon as I opened my eyes, I realised I didn't have parents. They were dead, and could not be replaced, like a jar that had cracked in a million pieces and three of them couldn't be found. Everyone thought I was ok, and when they looked at the jar from a certain point of view I seemed fine. They just forget to behind.

My Aunt Tessa looked after Caleb and I at our own house at first, but we soon moved in with our Aunt, who lived in the next suburb over. She was the first option as she was our closest, and only, living relative willing to take us in.

Aunt Tessa now owns our new and unoccupied house. She says that since mum and dad didn't have a will we eventually inherit everything they own. Money and all, including the house. I might even move into it when I'm old enough.

The story of the Priors appeared multiple times on the news. Constant updates from the police with reports of new searches, and that reassuring line: 'they're working on it'.

The authorities haven't found bodies yet, I doubt they ever will. Police were continuously searching for finger prints and DNA samples. They seized control of our house and even tore up the carpet, taking samples to 'the lab' to analyse. They did whatever they wanted to, whenever they wanted to, because there wasn't anybody around with the authority to eject them.

Reporters even tried interviewing me, but I couldn't say a word before my face was red and tear stained. It didn't help that the reporters weren't child friendly.

_So, what really happened? _No answer._ Did you see the number plate of the car? _No answer. _Did your parents know these people before the attack? _No answer._ Has anybody recently been threatening your parents?_

Questions were being asked so fast I wondered if the guy was stoned.

In my head I was asking them questions like:**_'_**_Do you want me to punch your face in- Oh wait, it's already fugly enough_**_'_**_, and _**_'_**_How do you feel emotionally scarring a little girl for life?_**_' _**just so that I could make it through. Somehow, thinking those things made me feel better.

Every single day when I got up and out of bed, walked down the stairs and had breakfast, I had to walk past the deep red circles, blotches, splats and drag marks of my parents blood. I forced myself to look away, but could always see it in my peripheral vision when I sat down to eat.

That was when the dreams started getting worse.

I was always the target of their operation. 'They' would never leave the house unless they had me too. It was always three people. Their faces were pale and blank, like those of a scarecrow, and they didn't know the definition of 'giving up'. They only spared Caleb's life.

In earlier dreams they just dumped me on the side of the road with my parent's dead bodies, the pale . I didn't have anywhere to go, and I wouldn't leave my parents.

But as the dreams progressed they started targeting me even more. I even was shot once, and although it was just a dream, it didn't scar me any less than the memory did. Sometimes I even died in the dreams, and woke up just after the trigger was pulled.

Long ago I started making plans in my head, preparing for the moment when they returned. Asking for ransom? I don't know. I just got scared and there was no-one there for me. I felt so lost. I told myself I would find them, the killers. They had ruined me beyond repair. And I'm still trying to find all my pieces to pull myself back together. Though it's never easy to find and accept those missing pieces.

It became harder everyday. Just to look in the mirror, pick up the gun and get ready. Somedays it was too hard to train, others I never thought about it. Like the days when routine was all I did, never thought.

I always had trouble picking up the gun. I thought if I did it more, it would become easier. But it never did.

I know they'll come back for me and Caleb, someday. They just didn't think that having both of my parents was enough.

I was seven at the time, but now I'm 23. I was also training to be a policewoman so I could save people from what happened to me. Was.

I quit. The one thing that let me escape. When you've just had enough and you can't stand that boring old teacher of your least favourite subject, rambling on and on and on. I give up. Exactly the same thing, but more emotional. I quit means no-one ever speaks of what happened. I give up, and people never stop talking about it. Giving up isn't taken lightly, which is why I quit.

I thought it would be good to train for the moment the killers came back. But in my heart, I knew no-one would ever be stupid enough to do the same thing twice. So I did it for myself. I knew it wasn't really what I wanted, to be in the force. A part of me was yelling I couldn't push my life and dreams aside just for this, and I listened.

Quitting let me forget my old life and build a new one. So when I quit the police force, I moved house too. It just made the change a little easier for my heart to handle.

Eventually, I figured out the difference between the dreams and the memory. This was achieved by years of counselling and concentration.

Though, sometimes I still cry about what happened, because the counselling could never completely heal my broken soul. I'm still trying to put that night behind me.

I currently rent an apartment, in a completely different state to where I was born. My roommates are loud, and are always having parties. They're 'making the most of life' as they say whenever I complain.

It's not like I could live on my own, though, what with all the 'pay this fee' and 'pay that bill' and 'don't forget about that tax'. Which is why I live here. When I first moved in, a week ago, we decided that the bills and things would be split equally among us. I complained so much about their parties that we scratched that idea. Now I only have to pay a small amount each week. It's compensation.

Though, I can always tell when there's been a party. I'll either find vomit in the bin in my room, ruffled bed sheets or I find the unmistakable stench of alcohol traveling up my nose. I would just like a warning about these parties before they happen, so I can get a few new locks in my room, and bolt it up like a prison before I leave.

To go where? I don't know. I just hope I'll find someone I can let in. Someone who I can trust not to hurt me. I've shut too many people out over the course of my life. I want a new start. I'm putting all that happened behind me. I need to start again, get a new life, and let someone in.

Almost a week later I get some mail from the Fourth City. Its smooth and velvety texture has me wishing I didn't have to open it. I notice their dark blue and black crest, which is located on the front of the letter, as I change my mind and violently rip open the letter, keen to see what they have to see. I devour each line like a tasty meal, wetting my lips from nerves, waiting for the verdict. There it is, I spot it. At the end of the letter is my fate.

I've got the job if I want it. But do I want it?

I do.

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><p><strong>Please read and review.<strong>

**Cheers!**

**~SocialisesWithBooks**


	2. Chapter 2

As odd as it is, yes, I'm currently the only girl in the apartment. Apparently I just missed the last one. She moved out two days before I came. I think her name was… Lauren? Though from what I hear, the others didn't really care if she stayed or not.

I'm glad I'm not going to be in this position for long though, because in a couple of weeks Zeke's girlfriend is moving in, and so far I like the sound of her. From what I've heard, she's not into the kinds of parties I avoid, she just likes the girly sleepovers with endless supplies of ice-cream and a few action movies to play overnight.

We were expecting to have a full house by the time Shauna arrived, with six people in residence. Uriah, Zeke, Will, myself, and what was a very good man. Al was, not is, because of the accident. I still remember the night when I asked Zeke where Al was.

"Hey Zeke!" I distinctly recall ringing out my hair as I trotted down the hallway, not caring about the slippery trail I left. Strange sirens and flashing lights were coming from outside my room, no wonder I was curious.

No answer, just silence, interrupted by the deafening sirens.

I remember my steps, one by one, were slow and steady. The way I hunched my back and tiptoed to the end of the hall, popping my head quizzically around the corner reminded me of just how clueless I was. These were no false memories.

That night was special. It was a celebration of their promotions. Beers and chip packets, along with assorted foods and beverages, lined the counter, and it was obvious that they weren't celebrating alone.

My feet took me to an open room with cushions and food strewn across the floor. The foul smelling combination of custard and alcohol would probably seep into the furniture in a matter of hours.

When Al and Uriah arrived, Will would gather the beer and Zeke would retrieve the cake. They would open the back gate and let the crowd in. One of the only things I remember being happy about, was how they always made sure everyone was of age. Alcohol was free there, and nobody in our neighbourhood wanted to be in trouble with the law.

But every time they partied, I would have to clean up their 'little' mess. I would be the one to vacuum the lounge and bin the beers. I would always, _always, _be stuck with cleaning the small excuse of a pool. And though it may be small, liquids tend to mix with liquids, and alcohol isn't water. Then I would spend hours slaving away to get all the soggy food remains of the bottom of the pool. They would never do anything to help me.

I was so sick of cleaning up after them, I decided to give Zeke a piece of my mind. This time _he _would vacuum the lounge, _he _would clean up the pool.

When I looked up from the mess on the floor, a square pillow inelegantly flew past my head. Its usual fluffy texture was ruined by the visible red snot stain that covered a large portion of one side.

"You have NO right to be here!" I snapped my head up at an alarming rate to find Zeke standing by Will, in front of a police man, pushing his on the shoulders in attempt to get him to go away. The dark blue and white checked hat was all to familiar to me. Staring at the uniform in child-like fascination, the memories pushed themselves into my mind. The uniforms, the sirens and everything there, they told me the childhood story: "Sister and Brother Stick Together After Loss." This could only mean one thing. They had found my parents, or just the bodies.

Watery eyed me almost walked straight back out the way I came. The only thing that stopped me was the expression on Zeke's face. I had never seen it before.

His eyes were filled with concern, but his mouth showed signs of anger and rage. His hands were fidgeting with anything he could get a hold of.

He screamed once more at the man who was trying to get him to calm down. It was the second loss in my life.

I was happy the story wasn't gruesome, it was '_another_ car accident' as the authorities insensitively stated.

He was travelling home from The Fourth City- He and I could have been work buddies, constantly having fun scaring teenage kiddies.

When he was on the Chasm, the bridge connecting the two freeways, one of the guys in the lane next to him was under the influence of alcohol. I don't need to tell you the rest. His car, one of two, was found in the river 25 feet below. We know he didn't drown.

Everyday I'm reminded of this, travelling over the bridge to get to the city. Construction workers are still fixing the damage, and signs have been put up telling us to slow down 20 metres each side of where the railing is broken.

I may not have known Al for more than 4 days, but it didn't take a genius to figure out he was a genuinely nice guy. This incident just left more broken pieces in my life. More pieces to find, and, eventually, accept.

This is my life story so far, with its hills and valleys and planes, but it isn't yet complete, like Al's. Though I'd rather say his story was discontinued. It reminds me that anyone could have been in his place, that it wasn't his fault.

Rubbing my eyes rid of sleep, I wake up to silence. Slowly, I lift my head from my pillow and look around the dark room.

My eyes rest on the old photo of my parents. I sit on my mothers hip, tugging her long brown hair. Time seems to be lost. She smiles, and so does dad. They both look so happy, you can see it in they eyes. And just like that, all the danger and evil seems to be gone from the world.

I draw the photo into my lap as I sit up on my bed.

Next to my mum is the tall butterfly tree, as I liked to call it. This was because of the purple leaves it left in the Fall, and the swelled branches that resembled the winds of a resting butterfly.

I long to see my mum again, and I wish I could turn back time, but I can't.

Today I don't have time to sit round and reminisce, as I have children to teach.

Mustering enough energy at the beginning of a very long day quickly is something I rarely do, and I'm not usually the one to get myself out of bed. Zeke almost always comes into my room half an hour before I actually need to wake up.

Before I know it, the door handle turns quietly and the door opens a crack, letting in the morning light. He swirly closes the door behind him and tiptoes toward my bed, and twists his imaginary moustache mischievously.

"Hey Zeke." I place the photo back on the table and stand up to face him.

"Hey Trixie." He stops suddenly, and looks towards the bed-side table. "Again?" He rolls his eyes and looks from me to the photo, sighing. "Tris," he speaks my name softly, and I prepare for a speech, "some day you're going to have to move on." He shakes his head plops down on my bed.

"Up, up, up! I have to wash my sheets," I raise an eyebrow at him, and he reluctantly stands, putting his hands on his hips, and raises one eyebrow back at me. I draw in a deep, slightly unconfident breath.

"I _have _gotten over them," I reply, while snatching my already reply while ripping the sheets off. "Mostly…" I whisper.

"Maybe if we get you a hobby,you might actually become a bit of fun."

"So…" I gather the sheets in my arms, peering at him over the top, "you're saying I'm boring?"

"I'm not saying you're boring, you just need to learn to live a little," he finishes, and lightly punches me in the arm. "Then you would stop complaining about the parties."

"Well, you do need to turn the music down. Some people need their sleep."

"Yeah, maybe if you got more sleep, you wouldn't be such a shorty-"

I immediately drop the sheets, and grab my pillow, propelling it a Zeke's face. That should teach him to call me a shorty, but knowing Zeke, it probably won't.

But I was in the police force, so I have plenty of muscle to make up for my height, you just can't see it.

"Anyway," I clap my hands together, "I've gotta pop these in the wash and get ready."

Today, unlike other days, is the fabulous day I will begin teaching students. Some of which probably pick their noses, some of which will learn to hate me. Some which can't throw a ball to save their life, and some of which are just plain stupid. This means I won't have time to eat those mouthwatering packet waffles for breakfast.

"And no more grieving," he points an accusing finger at me, walking out the door. "What has it been? 16 years Tris, we'll get you hobby soon!" I shouts from down the hall.

It's been 16 years since Mum and Dad left. 16 years of grieving, of loneliness, of counselling. I was only seven. He doesn't know how much that meant, how much what he said hurt me.

I erupt into tears. Ugly sobbing sounds and salty tears escape me. Suddenly my vision is cloudy, and I dive head first into my pillow, letting the sobbing and snorting be absorbed by it.

Loud, fast footsteps can be heard racing back towards me, stopping just outside the door. I hear the door creak open, and detect the overpowering smell of Zeke's cologne. He really needs to stop putting on so much, it just smells so bad. I start coughing and flapping me hands around like I'm trying to swat a fly, all while more salty tears and sobs are escaping me.

"I'm sorry," he smiles down apologetically at me, "I didn't mean. Oh, I'm really sorry. How 'bout you take the day off? You need it."

I don't really care about what he's saying, I just feel like crap. I take him in a big bear hug, and he awkwardly pats my back. When I pull back from the hug, and sniffle and gasp when I see his snottish-tear stained T-shirt. Crying does that to people. I crack up laughing at his t-shirt, while still crying.

He looks down, "I was going to wear this to work!" He yells, smirking, and pushes me off his lap. He caught me off-guard and I tumble to the floor like a rag-doll. That really hurt.

"Speaking of work, where will you be today?" I ask, curious of his job.

He rubs the back of his neck. "Uh…I..," His head falls, "I'm working at The Fourth City with you, but you weren't supposed to know until we get there."

"Why?"

"Dunno, let you settle in, maybe? Al obviously forgot about that since you knew he worked there. In fact this is an apartment specifically for teachers at The Fourth City. Uriah's our swimming coach -one of three -and a sport teacher. Will teaches science and participates in cross-country training. I don't pick favourites, I'm just a general sports teacher. You?"

"I know a thing or two about," I paused to release another hiccup, " force trained me pretty well in combat. I could throw a punch that would break your jaw." I smiled proudly, nodding, waiting for his response.

"Umm, maybe later, grasshopper, I prefer all my bones in their sockets, or wherever they _naturally _belong. But anyway, will you take the day off?"

"Ha," I laughed at him, wiping my tears, "you seriously think they'll let me off?"

"Well I've gotten away with it before, what makes you think I can't put it off again?"

"Zeke," I shake me head, "no, Zeke. That's wrong. We could get in serious trouble."

"Just…pretend you're sick, or something else." He shook his hand about in the air.

"Or something else, I chose. Zeke," I dramatically put my hand on my hip, "it would never work anyway and I just want to eat ice-cream. Oh, and did you know it's their anniversary in a week?" I sucked in a shaky breath, trying desperately to calm my tears. "I should do something for them. 17 years is a pretty big thing.

"Anyway, I have work to do before I go to do more work." I gathered my sheets in my arms, and walked out of my room, taking two lefts to find myself in the washroom. The brown decorative tiles are cold and relaxing to walk on. As I pop open the door of the washing machine, a beautiful scent is released. The fluffy white towels are now dry, and once again smell like gardenias. I press my nose to the towel labeled 'Trixie', courtesy of Zeke, and inhale deeply. Ah… I smells so refreshing.

After removing the towels, folding them, and placing them in the bathroom cupboard, I return to the washroom. Adding power and gardenia scent to the wash, I push my sheets into the compartment, and close the door. I select the warm/gentle wash, and set it for 40 minutes.

If only life was that simple. Selecting an option, and waiting for the job to be done.

**A/N: So, I know I don't have the best writing skills, and because of that, I would like your feedback. PM me leave a review, you chose, but I would like your advice, as readers, on how I could make this story better. You may have already noticed I'm not good at writing sad, touchy kind of scenes as I'm not used to writing about grief and loss. I think it would also come in handy if some of you could give me a few tips about romance. **

**"Thank you for your honesty" - Candor**

**Oh, and one last thing:**

_Dear Grammar Police,_

_If this chapter has many grammatical and/or spelling errors, it's because it's late at night and I didn't check. Though, in the next few days, I should be going over all of this and correcting anything._

_- From one of your kind_

**~SocialisesWithBooks**


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